Chapter 45
Rina
Ainsley is very suspicious right now.
She hovered over me as I finished up a personal project, and now she’s dragging me to her house for God knows what.
“What the hell is happening right now?” I ask for the fifth time.
“Just shut it and let me do what I need to do.” She hushes me again. I throw my hands up as we pull into her driveway.
I follow her inside, where she leads us to her bedroom, and it just makes me more confused.
“Put this on.” She tosses me a garment bag. I wearily open it up and see a cream dress, and I immediately throw it on her bed.
“I’m not wearing a dress. I’ll put on dress pants or something.”
“No can do. Put the damn dress on, Marina.” She glares at me, and it’s not her joking around glare; it’s her “do as you’re told, or there will be hell to pay” one.
“I’m here! Sorry I’m late!” Willow calls from the front door after it slams.
“We’re in my room!” Ainsley yells back.
What the fuck is happening right now?
“Shit, sorry. I was writing again and lost track of time,” Willow huffs as she busts into the room, carrying her own garment bag.
“Is this some kind of talent show? Why are we all dressing up?”
Willow looks at Ainsley, who just smirks.
“Fine. I’ll play along, but if this ends up being stupid, I’m leaving.” I go to grab the dress, but Willow stops me.
“Hair and make-up first.”
“No.” I go to reach for it again.
“Trust us. You’ll want hair and make-up done.”
“You know I hate everything about this. Surprises are not my friend.”
“We know, but this one is worth it. We wouldn’t steer you wrong,” Ainsley says.
“She” —I point to Willow— “absolutely would steer me wrong. Why don’t you ask her how many books she’s killed me off in?” I arch my eyebrow.
Willow snickers as Ainsley turns to her. “You haven’t killed me off, right?”
“Umm, no, of course not!” Willow says a little too forcefully.
“Damnit. I thought I was in the clear,” Ainsley mumbles.
“Well, this is fun and all, but if you want to do my hair and make-up, your window is passing. I only have so much patience for getting dolled up.” I grimace even thinking about a layer of make-up I’ll need to take off later.
In a half hour, the girls curled my hair and pulled it up into a soft up-do, and put very light make-up on me. I’m grateful it isn’t more, and I have to admit they did a damn good job. I don’t look like a woodworker; I look like a woman getting ready for a date or something.
“Okay, put the dress on while we change, and then we’ll beready to head out.”
“I need to tell Arlo I’m going to be late for dinner,” I absentmindedly tell them as I pull my phone out and shoot off a quick text. What I really wanted was to set up the bed that I finally finished before he got home, but it looks like that’s not going to happen.
